aint of something which they hardly liked to
name. Sister Louisa grieved sorely over what she had heard of Cynthia;
but she was also disturbed by an unconquerable distrust of this fair
fashionable woman of the world.

"I think there is scarcely any link wanting in the chain," said Mrs.
Vane to herself, when, having just caught her train, she was being
whirled back to the metropolis. "Jane Wood was Cynthia Janet Westwood.
She had a fine voice, and was about sixteen years old when she left St.
Elizabeth's, July, 187-. In July, 187-, the same year, Lalli appeared at
Mrs. Wadsley's with a girl of sixteen, who also had a fine voice, who
had been at St. Elizabeth's, and who called herself Cynthia West. Mr.
Lepel had put Jane Wood at school; Mr. Lepel turns up later on as the
lover--protector--what not?--of Cynthia West. There is not the slightest
reasonable doubt that Jane Wood and Cynthia West are one and the same
person. That prosy old Sister would prove it in a moment if we brought
them face to face. And Jane Wood was Westwood's daughter. Cynthia West
is Westwood's daughter. Very easily traced! What will the world say when
it knows that the rising young soprano singer is the daughter of a
murderer? It won't much care, I suppose. But Hubert will care lest the
fact be known. He has been too careful in hiding it for that not to be
the case. Let me see--Cynthia West--presumably Westwood's
daughter--meets a mysterious stranger in Kensington Gardens and
addresses him as her father. The mysterious stranger comes from America,
and has white hair and a white beard--quite unlike Mr. Andrew Westwood,
be it remarked. Westwood escaped from Portland some years ago, and is
rumored to have settled in the backwoods of America. I think there is
very good reason for supposing that the mysterious stranger is Westwood
himself, returned to England in order to secure his daughter's aid and
companionship. And, if so, what a fool the man must be, when once he had
got safely away, to run his head into a nest of enemies! He must be mad
indeed! And, if mad," said Mrs. Vane, with a curiously cold and cruel
smile, "the best thing for him will be incarceration at Portland prison
once again."

It was growing dark, and she was beginning to feel a little tired. She
put her feet upon the seat and closed her eyes. Before long she had
fallen into a placid slumber, which lasted until she reached the London
terminus. Then she drove straight to the Grosvenor Ho